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The rear cargo doors swung outward and four of Levant's commandos lined up at the edge of the black void. Twenty seconds later a buzzer sounded and they leaped forward and swiftly dropped into the night. The doors closed and the pilot circled to the north for twelve minutes before banking around on his landing approach.
The pilot peered through night-vision goggles as his copilot scanned the desert below through specially tinted bifocal glasses that enabled him to detect the infrared lights set up by the parachutists while glancing at the instrument readings.
"I have clear ground," announced the pilot.
The copilot shook his head as he detected four lights blinking in unison on the starboard side. "You're picking up a short field for light planes. The main strip is half a kilometer to starboard."
"Okay, I have it. Gear down."
The copilot pulled the lever and the wheels clumped down into position. "Landing gear down and locked."
"How do those Apache helicopter pilots keep from smacking into the ground?" muttered the pilot. "This is like looking through twin toilet paper tubes with green fog inside."
The copilot had no time to smile or reply. He was too busy reading off airspeed, altitude, and course corrections.
The big wheels struck the sand and gravel, throwing up a cloud of dust that obliterated the stars behind the speeding aircraft. The reverse thrusters were amazingly quiet as the plane hurtled down the airstrip. Then the brakes were firmly applied and the airbus settled to a stop less than 100 meters from the end of the strip.
The dust was still billowing in the aircraft's wake when the rear ramp swung down and the vehicles drove out and parked in a convoy, the attack dune buggy at the front. The six-man security team that was to remain behind came next and dispersed around the aircraft. The main force followed and swiftly boarded the personnel carriers. The leader of the parachute team ran up to Colonel Levant as he stepped to the ground and saluted.
"The area is deserted, sir. No sign of guards or electronic security."
"Any facilities?" asked Levant.
"Only a small brick building containing tools and drums of automobile diesel and aircraft jet fuel. Shall we destroy it?"
"Wait until we've returned from the mine." He gestured: to a shadowy figure next to him. "Mr. Pitt?"
"Colonel."
"Mr. Giordino told me you have raced off-road vehicles."
"Yes sir, that is correct. . ."
Levant motioned him into the driver's seat of the attack vehicle and handed him a pair of night-vision goggles. "You know the way to the mine. Please take the wheel and lead us in." He turned and faced another figure who appeared in the dark. "Captain Pembroke-Smythe."
"Sir."
"We're moving out. Ride in the last carrier and keep a watch to our rear, especially the sky. I don't want an aircraft sneaking up on the column."
"I'll keep a tight eye," Pembroke-Smythe assured him.
If the UNICRATT team operated on a shoestring, Pitt couldn't help wondering how incredibly exotic the equipment must be for U.S. Special Forces with unlimited funding. All of Levant's men and women, including Pitt and Giordino, wore night camouflage-gray and black flame resistant combat suits with bulletproof assault vests, protective night goggles, and helmets containing miniature radio communications gear and carried Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine guns.
Pitt threw a wave to Giordino, who was climbing beside the driver of the rear personnel carrier, and settled into a cramped seat, his head tucked beneath the six-barrel, Vulcan machine gun. He slipped on the goggles and adjusted his eyes to the sudden light magnification that made the desert for 200 meters in front of the dune buggy look like the green surface of an alien planet. He pointed toward the northwest. "The track to the mine begins about 30 meters ahead and to our right.
Levant nodded, then turned and confirmed that his tactical team was all loaded and ready to roll. He made a forward gesture with his hand and slapped Pitt on the shoulder. "Time is passing, Mr. Pitt. Please go."
Pitt accelerated rapidly as he shifted the dune buggy's five-speed gear box. The vehicle leaped ahead, tailed by the
three personnel carriers. The ground soon blurred beneath the widetrack tires. Fine sand particles burst and exploded in its trail, forcing the personnel carriers to drive in a staggered V-formation to escape the blinding dust clouds. It did not take long before the vehicles and their passengers were all caked in a layer of fine brown-gray dust.
"How fast will she go?" Pitt asked Levant.
"On a level surface, 210 kilometers."
"That's around 130 miles an hour," said Pitt. "Not bad considering her lack of aerodynamics and heavy weight."
"Your Navy SEALs came up with the idea of using them during the desert war with Iraq."
